A Dance Of Death
by thisstrangeobsession
Summary: Lucy Harris resolves to see Dr. Jekyll again, no matter the cost; but if she can't keep her secret love from the jealous Edward Hyde, she may not live long enough to get the chance. (Dangerous Game-inspired). Violence and explicit sexual content. Rating: MA.
1. Chapter 1

The card was chafed at the edges, ink faded from the frequent grasp of Lucy's fingers; it hardly mattered, for she had memorized the embossed letters by heart. She held it against her chest now, thinking of the man she needed to see again, more than anything in the world. The first man to show her simple compassion, to look her in the eyes and see a person, not a thing to be used. The only man who'd never treated her like a whore.

_He will forgive me. _

All she'd done, who she'd been – he alone would forgive. He had to. Her mind was made up. She would see Henry Jekyll again, no matter the cost.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Gentleman here, Lucy," came the voice of Ben, one of the newly-arrived bar boys. "Says he's a friend of yours."

Lucy beamed. How could fate have brought him here? It was an answered prayer, one repeated with every waking thought, every breath, every silent cry for help. Her imagination ran away with her; she even dared fancy that he had come to save her. Why else would he be here?

She was suddenly aware of her scant clothing – only a corset, chemise, and knickers – but there was nothing to be done unless she were to delay, and that would be terribly rude. She was almost at the door before she remembered the card. What to do with it? It would be embarrassing for him to find her fawning over it. She fumbled with the paper, hurriedly shoving it into her corset, making sure no trace was visible. The door creaked open. A shadowy silhouette loomed in the doorway; in the dark, she could make out only his broadest features, but nonetheless smiled in recognition. It could only be-

The man stepped into the faint candlelight, and Lucy stumbled back. It wasn't Henry at all; it was Mr. Hyde.

"For a moment I thought it was someone else," she said with a light tone, hoping to distract him from her obvious revulsion, but no matter how hard she tried, her disappointment could not be mistaken.

She cautiously, but quickly, retreated farther into the room, standing by the foot of the bed. Just the thought of him could rend the flesh from her heart; the sight of him right now would tear it from her chest.

"For a moment, it almost was."

There was a trace of a smile in his voice. What had he done? Had some other man attempted to inquire after her within his hearing, and-

"I have some rather sad news, Lucy," he said, his deep voice sending shivers through her. He'd done something terrible, she was sure of it – or worse, he had something terrible yet planned, perhaps for her. Her shoulders tensed as he approached, bracing for his touch. The subtle heat of his body warmed her skin as he stood behind her. His hot breath caressed her ear.

"I have to go away for a little while."

Lucy allowed herself the smallest exhale of relief. It wasn't about her. At least she had that reassurance, perilous though it was.

"A… friend and I have a little dispute to settle."

She didn't want to picture it. Whoever it was, she pitied the poor soul. She knew too well the consequences of his anger; if she were careless, she would know them again.

"You're glad to see me go."

"No, sir," she whispered, instantly seeking to appease him, but it was useless. His warm lips brushed her right earlobe; her fear only heightened the pleasant shock, waves of heat pulsating through her with just the faintest contact.

"I can tell when you're lying, Lucy," his voice rumbled, drowning out every other thought. It was a warning, but not yet a threat, and for that she was grateful.

She stayed perfectly still as he swept her hair aside, exposing her shoulder. He kissed the soft flesh, dragging his lips from the top of her arm to the hollow of her throat in a sweet rush of sensation. Lucy's knees weakened, and she was glad for the arm that wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. She gave into his seduction, wary though she was. A soft touch now meant nothing; he could still be cross with her. His wrath was just as often delayed as it was swift. If she could repair whatever damage she may have done, she had to try. As his lips began to part, she spoke, for if she did not do so now, she may not have the chance again.

"When do you come back?"

It was meant to sound as though she looked forward to his return; too late, she realized it could be taken as wondering how long of a reprieve she'd have. A firm stroke of his forefinger turned her head toward him. Try though she might, she couldn't meet his gaze, only able to glance at his dark eyes before turning her own downcast.

"It shouldn't take long. I will know where you are every moment while I'm gone," he said. His fingers encircled her neck, with just enough pressure that his threat was unmistakable. "And God help you, if you're not waiting for me when I return."

A whimper escaped her lips, unable to even form whatever phrases she could come up with to placate him. None were forthcoming – her mind was blank, overtaken by a blind panic that rendered her scarcely able to breathe, let alone think. The violent gesture was thankfully brief. She went numb as he released her throat, his touch once more… gentle was not the word, for it would never be that. Even his caresses had a quality of violence about them, baiting a trap for her senses with sweet pleasures that made her tingle as only he could, but they were ready in an instant to ensnare her in a painful grip from which she could never escape. She had tried. It was a mistake she would never make again.

Lucy shivered as his middle finger touched the sensitive spot just behind her ear, trailing his fingertip along the nape of her neck and down her back to the edge of her corset. Her eyes widened in fear.

_The card._

It was still tucked between the stiff material and the linen underneath, atop her breast. It would only be a matter of time before he discovered it. He had forbidden her from seeing anyone else; for him to find another man's mark so close to her heart…

She closed her eyes to conceal the burning tears, determined to make sure he'd find nothing amiss until she found a way to rid herself of the evidence. If he suspected anything, it was over. There was no plea that could save her once she'd earned his fury. She knew that the second he looked at her in anger, she would tell him everything.

His mouth seized her neck without warning, his hot tongue running hard across her skin. Lucy gasped at the sudden onslaught, completely unprepared, her hand finding his at her waist. He teased her mercilessly, flicking in small circles that suggested other, sweeter pleasures; an intense longing pulled at her core as he began to thrust the moistened flesh against the most sensitive areas, a blissful reminder of all the joys his lovemaking had brought her, and would again before long.

She leaned back as he paused for breath, tilting her head to give him better access, but he didn't continue. Instead, two of his fingertips began to slowly trace the curve of her corset. Her nipples had already hardened at his touch; they ached now as he dipped into her cleavage, only the immovable binding between them and the caress she yearned for. He lingered there, almost prying at the restrictive material, so close to exposing the one secret she held so dear. Had she hidden it well enough? Could he see the edge of the card somehow? Had something she'd done made him guess at what she'd been trying to conceal? She stiffened in fear.

With one swift movement, his arm pulled her into a headlock, wrapped tightly enough that he could break her neck with a sharp twist of his bicep. She cried out in fright, the sound strangled by his grip, and her heart raced. Her hands flew to his arm, desperately stroking the fur of his coat.

"Please," she managed to whisper, struggling for enough breath to speak. The only response was a tightening of his grasp. His knee dug into her back, forcing her legs to give out; if she didn't relax, she would suffocate herself. Every instinct told her to fight back, to run, but it would be a death sentence. He didn't move, merely holding her there in painful suspense. After a brief moment of panic, her mind finally cleared enough to think. She knew what he wanted.

She let her arms drop and leaned against him as best as she could, no matter the discomfort, going limp. Her sudden fright had made her seem unyielding; that was what had set him off. It was the thing he seemed to hate most, and even the slightest hesitation on her part could be met with unwarranted cruelty. He had done this to prove a point: she was helpless.

Closing her eyes, she waited, her face a mask of resignation. Slowly, he withdrew his knee and allowed her to stand again, releasing her from his grip, but kept his arm across her chest. She coughed, heaving as she regained her breath. A brush of fingers against her cheek almost made her flinch; she quickly leaned into the caress, taking it as a sign that she'd been forgiven.

He pulled away then, leaving her where she was. Lucy glanced behind her as he shed his coat and draped it over a chair by the wall, his back turned. The light rustle of fabric told her that he was unbuttoning his shirt; he would be a few moments at least. This was her chance.

She hesitated, not trusting her unsteady legs to hold her even if she dared to move, but there was little choice. If she could get to the window, she could slip the card behind the curtain and return in time to spare herself from his wrath. She took a timid step in the direction of the pale moonlight, but before she could even think about freeing the card from its place, Hyde grabbed her by the wrist.

He yanked her to him, her back thrown hard into his bare chest. The violence of it filled her with horror; she prayed that his anger wouldn't incite a beating. An arm wrapped around her waist, not an embrace, but a crushing restraint. He wrenched her wrist beside her head, his grip bruising. She forced herself to relax despite these minor injuries, lest her resistance bring a far worse pain. Resting her head against his shoulder in surrender, she turned to look at him with pleading eyes.

His cold glare was merciless at first, gleaming with threats of a vicious beating; it softened ever so slightly as she began to tear up, placing a gentle hand over his own. He shook the wrist in his grasp, shocking her into unfolding her curled fingers, and loosened his hold. With a lustful glance, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her palm. She shuddered as his tongue stroked the most prominent line etched into her skin, dragging slowly up to the tip of her centremost finger.

When he looked at her again, it was with a demanding passion that made her heart race even faster than it had in fear. He let go of her wrist, taking hold of her waist with both hands; she trembled as they slid down her stomach at a tantalizing pace, edging closer to the source of a longing that became more desperate with every passing second. His eyes never left hers, daring her to protest or plead, but she remained quiet save for the quickening of her breath, knowing that nothing she could say would sway him.

Just as his fingers reached the bottom of her corset, they diverged, firmly gripping the inside of her thighs. She held her breath as he leaned down and sharply tilted his hips into the curve below her buttocks, thrusting his arousal against her. A surprised moan passed her lips at the sudden heat; she arched her back, her eyes closing to savour the feeling. She hoped he'd continue, but he made only the subtlest of movements, and she burned with the anticipation.

His left hand pulled at the ties which closed the gap separating her white linen drawers, loosening them until he could easily slip underneath. She fought the urge to arch into his palm as his fingers touched the dark curls between her legs, and began to trace the delicate folds gently closed over the throbbing nub. She couldn't hold back an unwitting sigh of yearning, thoroughly intoxicated by his teasing movements. A fingertip pushed down on the spot, pressing and releasing in quick succession, creating an ache so fierce that it was painful. Her eyes opened to find him staring intently at her face, judging her reaction; he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. Gazing back with a new boldness, she wordlessly begged him to end this beautiful agony.

If he took notice of her silent plea, it went unheeded. His fingers only grazed her warm skin, teasing her until her eyes glistened with tears, every shuddering breath full of desire. At last, one fingertip slipped into her wetness and found the most sensitive bit of flesh. He flicked over it, making her gasp in sweet pleasure, then held her in suspense again for what seemed like hours. Just when she least expected it, he dove into the throbbing folds and attacked the quivering nub with rapid strokes, throwing her into a fit of ecstasy. At her first cry of joy, his lips captured her throat, hot kisses running along the side of her neck as his tongue fervently imitated his movements below.

The straining bulge thrust hard against her backside, only thin layers of clothing separating them from sweet fulfilment; a fiery ache overwhelmed her with need for him. Lucy clutched his free hand, her mouth hanging open in awe as she cried out in bliss, the pressure building and building-

"Do you want me to take you right now, Lucy?"

His voice was low and husky with passion, his lust matching her own. Whatever sense she had left, she called upon it now. It was the perfect solution – he needn't bother to remove her corset. Her secret would be safe.

"Yes, sir!" she cried.

She turned her head away from him as it neared, arching desperately. Her cries went silent, caught in her throat as he brought her to the cusp of satisfaction. Just as she was about to release the final shriek of pleasure, he stopped. His hands took hold of the inside of her elbows with a harsh grip; he hooked one arm around both of hers, pulling them behind her back. A hand tangled in her hair, twisting the strands around his fingers, and gave a slight tug. She winced, her face contorting in panic as her mind raced. What had she done?

Dark laughter echoed softly in her ear.

"No."

He held her there a second longer before releasing her, lifting her hair and draping it over her left shoulder. There was a slight pull of material at her back. He was starting to unlace her corset.

Lucy bent her head as she began to sob. She struggled to stop herself from shaking, not even daring to wipe the tears away. He couldn't see her face, but he would feel that she was crying, though he would mistake the reason. He would find out the truth soon enough.

His fingers deftly worked at the bindings, each swift movement a countdown to her ruin. Should she try to explain herself now, before he made the discovery himself? He would still be angry, perhaps even furious, but there was a slim chance that her honesty would spare her undue pain.

"Sir, I-,"

A sharp yank of her hair silenced her. Perhaps he thought she was about to make some complaint. Pleasantries had no place in their strange relationship; their cries of passion were often the only words that passed between them. Save for his threats and grand promises, he hardly spoke to her at all. She preferred it that way, for she feared his baiting questions. His words, like his touch, were a ruse – and a wrong answer would cost her dearly.

The loosened corset settled on her hips. Lucy swiftly brought her hands to her chest to undo the front clasps herself. He grabbed her left hand as she pulled the card from her breast with her right, folding it into her fist to keep it out of his view. She yelped in pain as he twisted her wrist, almost breaking it, and spun her toward him. She caught herself with an arm around his back; she let go of the card now that it was out of his sight, but she didn't have time to see it flutter to the floor.

He seized her throat in a suffocating grip, cutting off her breath completely. Her hands sprang to his wrist out of instinct, but she didn't pull – to do so would seal her fate. She tried to speak, to scream, to make any sound at all that would serve as a plea for mercy, but there was nothing she could do. Dizziness began to set in, but still his grip remained steadfast. Why didn't he release her? He wouldn't kill her over so small a transgression, would he? As black dots danced at the edge of her vision, she realized that he may have no intention of letting her go. Through her tears, she looked up into his eyes; Death stared back.

Her fingers pried uselessly at his hand, mouthing all the words she couldn't say as darkness closed in. She thought of the beautiful card that lay on the floor, of the man she would've given anything to see one last time. She longed to tell him of how often she recalled their meeting – how it had given her the strength to endure these cruelties and survive another night, given her the hope that she could one day escape from this hell. Just for him to smile at her once more would be enough. But she would never get the chance to say goodbye.

_We all have to make choices, don't we?_

She chose to live. With a strength she didn't know she had, Lucy lashed out at him, pulling at his arm. He laughed at her, batting one of her hands away, but the other succeeded at landing a blow against his chest. The humour disappeared, and he yanked her closer. His grip loosened just as she shoved him as hard as she could; she stumbled back, nearly thrown into the wall. Leaning against it, she gasped, the sweet inhalation making her cough – but as she looked to him, her breath froze.

He was eerily still, his head bowed, long black hair casting shadows over his face. His gaze lifted to meet hers, and what she saw there chilled her to the bone. Promises of unspeakable agonies screamed from his cold eyes. If he hadn't meant to kill her before, he certainly did now.

He took one step toward her.

Two.

Three.

The terror took hold like an iron vice. She could not move; even her knees daren't tremble, though she commanded them to fold and allow her to fall before him. Maybe then she'd be given a chance. Even that was denied to her.

Her eyes snapped shut, tears falling down her cheeks as she braced herself for whatever pain awaited her. The heat of his body as he neared her was her undoing; she began to shake, every sense screaming in warning. She prayed that he would speak, delaying long enough that she could manage to beg – or else, that the end would at least be quick.

He pulled her from the wall, wrenching her wrists behind her back, and slammed her back against it. She cried out in terror, finally finding her voice.

"Please- !"

Her cry was silenced by his lips. She whimpered, surprised; immediately, she melted into the kiss, opening to his prying tongue. He stroked her with an erotic urgency, a promise, and she strained against him, eager to quell his anger.

Such an act was still odd to her. A whore's mouth wasn't meant to be kissed; that was too intimate, reserved for those dear and close to one's heart, and she was far from his. If he cared for her at all, why would he treat her the way he did? At times, she wished she didn't desire him at all. It would be easier to hate him. She was not his willing lover, but nor was she merely his whore – she was his prey.

He released her to unclasp the loosened corset, and she lifted her arms in surrender. As the garment fell to the floor, he pinned her wrists over her head with one hand, the other pulling down her chemise to bare her right breast. He traced its curve with his fingertips, drawing ever-smaller circles around her nipple, but didn't touch it. She tilted her head in longing as his gaze returned to her face, her drying tears the only evidence remaining of her fear; it had been replaced by a lust so consuming that even the worst of his cruelties paled in comparison.

He bent and took the aching bud into his mouth, his lips pulling sweetly as he stroked it with his tongue, wringing every last bit of pleasure from it; she moaned loudly, trembling, needing more. A hand reached between her legs, teasing back and forth over the delicate indent. She cried out as his thumb began to pleasure her, streaks of heat intensifying until it seemed he would bring her to a climax, but he slowed, denying her; instead, his teasing touch kept her just on the edge, straining for release. She pressed her lips together, turning her scream of frustration into a desperate whimper. He pulled away from her nipple and rose to his full height, looking down into her eyes. Two fingers curled, slipping into her folds. They pushed against her opening, just short of entering her. She sharply arched her head back, gasping with anticipation. His taunting glare dared her to speak.

"Yes," she said, panting. "Please."

In a maddening, passionate haze of frantic kisses, they hastened to the bed, her chemise and drawers tossed to the floor; his clothing and boots quickly joined them. He pinned her to the mattress as he had against the wall, leaning down for a kiss that made her tremble with its violent need. Releasing her, he spread her legs and kissed a trail down her body, his hot tongue ravishing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs…

His hands took hold of her wrists, restraining her with a firm grip to keep her still, a reminder of his control as his eyes looked up at her, teasing. Finally, he bent to taste her, and she struggled not to writhe beneath him. He devoured her nub, his tongue deftly flicking hard against her until he found the spot that made her cry out the loudest; then, he set upon it without mercy, stroking furiously as she spasmed with joy. He stopped just before she could reach satisfaction, gathering her wrists in one hand. Two fingers prodded her opening, slick with her dripping lust, and slowly pushed inside.

She arched gently, guiding his skillful, searching fingertips, and gasped as he brushed the sweet spot. He thrust against it hard, faster and faster, driving her relentlessly toward ecstasy; his lips trapped her throbbing nub, holding it captive for the rapid strokes of his tongue, the twin pleasures so overwhelming that she screamed.

Instantly, he withdrew, lifting her up and pulling her to the foot of the bed, making her bend over. He got behind her, placing her hands on the low railing, and she held on tight. Her body quivered in anticipation as his smooth head entered her.

He thrust his full length into her, hitting the spot his fingers had just pleasured, and a cry of pure bliss erupted from her throat. He withdrew to that point and rubbed slowly against it, keeping her in an exquisite agony. One hand cupped her right breast, his fingers circling sweetly over her nipple; the other pleasured her nub with light, deliberate strokes. His lips teased at her neck.

"You'd best savour this, Lucy. You will be punished severely when we're through," he said, growling low into her ear. "But if you beg sweetly now, I may be lenient…"

Before she could even think to speak, he rammed into her again and again and again, the hot friction eliciting shrieks of pleasure from her mouth. She despised him, even as she begged for more, but it was herself that she hated most of all. Her pleas were not for him, never for him, not for mercy nor sweet release; they were for another man entirely. Sobbing, she called out to the one person who could have saved her. But Dr. Jekyll couldn't help her now.

Hyde pounded into her with wild abandon, his harsh cries of passion bellowing in her ear, and she clenched around him, shuddering. She threw her head back, arching as hard as she could. She caught his gaze just before she closed her eyes, climaxing with rapturous ecstasy, and let out a wordless scream.

_Henry!_


	2. Chapter 2

She loved him.

More than anything else in the world, she loved him. Not the man she was with now, but the man whose name she dare not speak aloud: Henry Jekyll.

He had become more than just a friend, no matter what he had said; in Lucy's mind, he had become a saviour, a symbol of all that she longed for, all that she longed to be. It was not the lifestyle she craved – it was the thought of being with him always, a heart to call home. A place she'd be safe. His image had faded in her mind's eye, blurred whenever she tried to recall it, his back as he turned away from their impulsive embrace the only thing left to her. A kind look and a gentle touch were all that remained of her memory of him; anything more brought on a feeling of unease, forcing the sight of her beloved's face just beyond her reach. Even so, it was him that she loved – and only him.

But he could never know.

Her pleasure only intensified as Hyde roared with his own release, his brutal thrusts sending her into unspeakable bliss. Even as she lost herself in the sweet joy, it frightened her. The pain she'd suffered at his hands enslaved her to his whim, but it was only in the throes of ecstasy that she was truly at his mercy. She was sure that he knew it, too – he derived some twisted satisfaction from it, his deliberate and thorough attentiveness to her needs making his vicious treatment of her afterward all the more cruel.

He was the only man to have satisfied her in this way. She'd learned to deceive men in such matters before, convincing them that their attentions were adequate to please a woman, but never before had her fervor been in earnest. It was different with him; there was no pretense, no need to exaggerate or to play at false modesty. His demand that she express her pleasure without reserve only encouraged what she already felt. She couldn't conceal her lust from him if she tried – nor, much to her misfortune, her regret afterward.

The aftershocks coursed through her sweetly, his movements within her suddenly tender but no less passionate, keeping her writhing in pleasure to the very end. At last, she shuddered helplessly and collapsed against him, exhausted. He held her in their carnal embrace a while longer, stroking her hair as they caught their breath. The gesture was so gentle, she almost dared hope…

"Are you satisfied, Lucy?"

The whisper cut through her reverie, startling her. She'd almost fallen asleep. If only she could – but would she be able to rest easily with him so near? She'd not had occasion to find out; even though her time was now exclusively paid for and reserved by him, he never stayed the night.

"Yes, sir," she said, murmuring in her dream-like haze.

He withdrew from her, and only then did she notice the warmth of her thighs and buttocks, hot from the almost bruising force of his hips slamming against her. She would ache tomorrow, but for now, she didn't mind; though he may have been rough, it was nothing compared to the pain he could have caused her had he not so carefully prepared her. Had he chosen to do so, he could have torn her apart. Someday, she feared he just might.

"Good," he said, his tone soothing as his hands grasped her shoulders. "It's time for your punishment."

She panicked as he flipped her onto her back, catching herself on the bed railing. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Please don't! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…," she started, and halted, her breath stolen by violent sobs. "I thought you were going to kill me, sir!"

He leaned in close, a taunting sneer turning serious as his hand wrapped around her throat; fear quieted her weeping. His lips nearly touched hers as he spoke.

"Don't you trust me?"

The words were a trap. To lie would be an unforgivable sin – but to tell the truth would be an insult. No matter what she said, he would find in it a fault and a reason to worsen her pain. Her silence was answer enough, but she daren't leave it at that; to refuse him a reply would anger him most of all. Desperate, she tilted her head slightly, and when his grip didn't tighten, pressed her lips to his.

It was a terrible risk. He rarely even let her touch him without his explicit direction, and attempts to do so, unwitting or otherwise, had resulted in anything from a harsh reprimand to a nearly-broken wrist. She longed to caress him, to hold him, to thread her fingers through his hair – to succeed in pleading for gentleness with her touch as her words had failed to do. If only he would give her the chance.

The violent reaction she had dreaded never happened. Instead, his lips moved against hers, so warm and soft that she almost forgot about everything else. But the relief she'd hoped for soon turned to worry. If she were too timid, he could grow impatient; too forceful, and he might think her overly familiar. How far could she go without overstepping herself?

She carefully brushed her tongue against his lips, and they parted in invitation, giving her permission to lead. All hesitation gone, Lucy kissed him with as much enthusiasm as she dared; her fervour was met with a passion that overwhelmed her senses, drawing her in until she was blissfully lost. His hand moved from her neck to her cheek, his caresses delicate, and an arm wrapped around her back to hold her close. She let go of the railing, embracing him as she had never done before, weak with relief when he only held her tighter. For the first time, she felt safe.

They didn't stop until they were out of breath, both pulling away in tandem. His finger traced the outline of her face, tipping up her chin, and she chanced a weak smile, receiving a warm grin in return. Her heart leapt at the rare show of affection – but just as quickly, she was plagued by an unsettling feeling. She'd seen that smile before. But not from him.

"Was that an answer, or an apology?" he asked.

She tried not make her sudden wariness plain, forcing herself not to look away despite the turmoil inside her heart.

"Both, sir," she said.

His gaze moved to her lips, his own so close that she could feel their warmth.

"Then you should do it twice."

She kissed him again at once, determined not to let the odd sensation in her chest impact this brief moment of joy, the closest thing to happiness she'd known since… since…

The images came unbidden into her mind: the memory of a richly decorated study, a clock chiming on the fireplace, a smooth, warm hand on her shoulder-

Maybe she hesitated; she wasn't sure. But the moment her thoughts shattered, his kiss turned violent once more, familiar in its wild, consuming ferocity. She tried to relax, though her pulse thundered in her ears as it always did with him, and surrendered to the maddening ache that sent shivers of fire racing through her. It thrilled her, scared her, made her want to cry, but at least this was known to her. Part of her longed for the kiss of moments ago, but suddenly, it was his gentleness that frightened her most of all.

He pulled away, leaving her breathless. She lay vulnerable in his arms, panting, and looked to him. Lust had returned to those dark eyes – and so had their mystery. He swept her up and set her back upon the mattress, straddling her; his hands slid up her stomach and over her breasts, his fingertips teasing her nipples. She moaned, weak at the thought of him taking her again, and closed her eyes.

"Apology not accepted."

The open-handed slap descended before she could even comprehend what he'd said. The sharp blow stung, hard enough to make her dizzy, but it wasn't likely to bruise. If she didn't act quickly, she was certain she'd have far worse. She opened her eyes to find his hand reared back, ready to strike again.

"Please, sir! I begged you! You said-!"

His other hand grabbed her throat, holding her in place as he slapped her again, harder this time.

"I said I may be lenient. Be thankful I hold your pleasure so dear, or I'd have made you scream in agony instead."

She flinched as he leaned down, but he didn't look at her. His lips pressed against her ear.

"If you _ever _raise your hand to me again, I will kill you," he said, a deathly growl so low that it seemed inhuman. "There will be no warning, no time to beg, and no mercy. Do you understand, Lucy?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, struggling to breathe past the choking sobs.

He left her there, shaking uncontrollably, as he dressed. When he'd finished, he returned to stand beside the bed; she couldn't bear to look at him, but neither could she move, lying petrified on top of the blankets. She dug her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from recoiling as his hand touched her cheek. He wiped away the tears trailing into her hair, but the soft touch only encouraged her weeping.

She went limp as he lifted her onto her knees, her only resistance a wondering glance before looking away; he climbed onto the mattress, facing her, and pulled her into his arms. His warm embrace was a surprise, but not a relief. Numbness dragged at her limbs, a cautious folding of her arms about his back the most she could manage, and she laid her head upon his shoulder, crying freely. She had nothing left.

Why? Why did he bother to comfort her? If that had been his intent, it had failed; rather than put her at ease, it made her want to crawl away. She wished he would just go, leaving her to cry and mend her fractured heart in the safety of her own mind, instead of guarding every look and every touch in fear of his anger. Why couldn't he just use her and be on his way like all the others? Whatever his twisted feelings for her, she'd rather be without them. It was better to be bruised than broken.

They remained there until her weeping had stopped and her tremors stilled, drained of all feeling but the emptiness in her chest. He pulled back, his hand cupping the right side of her face, and swept away what remained of her tears. She averted her eyes, afraid of what she might find in his – or worse, what her own might reveal to him.

"Look at me."

Her gaze lifted, heart racing as she stared into the cold, dark depths.

"I will return as soon as I can, and then I will make the arrangements for-,"

He stopped, looking past her, and sprang from the bed. She turned just in time to see him stand over a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. Her eyes went wide with fear, and he caught her guilty glance, his expression turning dangerous. He'd found the card.

"Is this what you were hiding from me?" he said, his tone making it clear that it was not a question, and snatched it up.

She saw his jaw tighten and his muscles tense as he read the weathered bit of paper. Locks of black hair fell over his eyes, keeping them from her view, but she could guess at the rage they must hold. Panic overtook her, leaving her speechless as she tried to think of some excuse.

"I tried to tell you, sir!" she said at last. "Truly, I did-!"

A harsh laugh interrupted her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to the railing, an iron grip crushing her wrist.

"What is this man to you?"

"Just a friend, sir," she answered, too quickly, though it wasn't a lie. In her heart, she knew that that was all she was to him; perhaps even that was too far. Memories of their kiss surfaced, his gentle lips so sweet upon hers – and then, so cruelly denied her.

"And this "friend"… do you have feelings for him?" he asked. For the first time, she thought she heard a trace of uncertainty; his voice had shaken for just a moment, an edge of distress mixed with anger. It took her a few seconds to realize what it was. Jealousy.

"I hardly know him, sir."

A hand rose as if to slap her, and she cowered, bowing her head. He forced her chin up, his fingers pinching hard enough that she dare not look away.

"Answer the question."

She sobbed, hoping her obvious panic would delay him. What would he do if she told him the truth? It wasn't just her life at stake anymore; if he took that card with him…

"Yes," she said quietly, sniffing. "But I won't visit him again, I swear-,"

"You visited him? When?"

"The day after you bit me, sir," she said, and realized that "visit" may have sounded intimate, quickly correcting herself. "He cleaned the wound, sir, that's all."

"Is it?"

She couldn't lie; he would pry the truth from her with a slap before she could finish speaking.

"I… I kissed him, sir. To thank him."

"And did he kiss you back?" he asked. It sounded as though he were mocking her. Rather than become angry, he almost seemed amused.

"Not really, sir," she said. "He left."

Tears masked her deceit, if it could even be called that. He had kissed her back, if only for a moment, and it was something she would cherish for the rest of her life. But in the end, what she had said was the truth. As he had walked away, so had her heart.

She flinched as he released her, expecting a blow, but none came. He went to her vanity, where a lone candle lit the room. He stuck in card into the flame.

"_No!"_

She covered her mouth, instantly regretting the panicked cry. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her from the bed, holding her face before the fire as she watched her only hope burn. Weeping in silence, she tried to be thankful. Without the card, at least he wouldn't be able to find Henry.

When it had turned to ash, he spun her around and bent her over the side of the bed, shoving her face-down into the mattress. She managed to turn her head, gasping as terror screamed through her veins.

"Please don't hurt me! I'll never see him again, I promise! Please!"

There was no reply. His hands gripped her shoulders, and she braced herself for pain. Instead, they kneaded her tense muscles, his thumbs massaging the nape of her neck until she let her head hang loose. Praying that this was not a ruse to lower her defences before a beating, she closed her eyes.

His hands moved slowly up and down her back, and she allowed herself to relax completely, giving into the tingling warmth of his caresses. They embraced her, sliding over her stomach and up to her breasts, fingertips teasing at her nipples until she was thoroughly intoxicated, longing for him once more. Her breath caught as he moved downward, one hand edging closer and closer to that pulsating spot; his fingers spread on either side, running along her folds. He trailed back and forth, closing in on the throbbing flesh, but did not touch her. His fingertips rubbed gently all around it, small circular movements that made her ache desperately for his sweet caress. She whimpered quietly, arching her back.

Soft moans escaped with every breath as his other hand stroked the back of her thighs, all the more sensitive for the lingering tenderness of their earlier joining. He skimmed her folds, teasing her; she felt a warm flow of new lust between her legs, adding to the already hot, dripping wetness. She went weak as two fingertips touched her opening, pushing gently. Gasping, she turned her head to look back at him, a pleading look in her eyes.

What was he doing? Was this a punishment, arousing her until it became torture, only to leave her unfulfilled as a lesson? Or was he preparing to take her again, her infidelity forgiven for the moment? She couldn't ask, certain that he wouldn't answer – he never did. Whatever it was, she far preferred it to the alternative.

A lustful glare looked down upon her; he gave her a small knowing smile, pressing a little harder, and she moaned in longing. His eyes locked with hers as he slowly knelt and licked his lips, spreading her thighs further apart. The soft flesh quivered at the stroke of his tongue. Heat consumed her, setting her sex on fire as it traced her opening, and his fingers began their skillful manipulation of that most sensitive spot. She cried out in pleasure, still amazed by it after all this time. Since the first night they'd met, the excitement hadn't lost its wonder; each exploration was different than the last, but always, her senses were stunned by the joys that he alone had given her. She clutched the bed sheets, arching and whimpering encouragements as he rubbed her exactly where she needed it, bringing her closer and closer until the blissful end was in reach.

Suddenly, his movements ceased, and he stood. Any worry she may have had was laid to rest as his hand replaced the sweet caresses of his mouth. His long, smooth fingers eased inside of her, seeking the aching core they knew so well. She threw her head back as he found the very source of her lust, every muscle in her body pulling toward that one point, instantly sending her into rippling spasms of pleasure.

He played her body like a finely-tuned instrument, low moans turning into soaring screams at his command. Every time it seemed he would finish it, he paused, the fingers inside of her still as his other hand stroked her nub just slowly enough to stop her from going over the edge. She pleaded until her words faded into desperate cries, calling out to him to save her from this sweet agony, but he didn't respond, denying her time and time again. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes; even she was not quite sure why. She quieted herself, lips pressed together to stifle her screams as he made her writhe on the brink of ecstasy. Only then did he speak.

"Do you love me, Lucy?"

A shudder ran through her, fear chilling the fire of his touch. His tone was direct and without the subtle humour his taunts always carried. The question wasn't just a trick; it was a death threat. If she said "no," she was certain he would dispose of her. If she said "yes," she would be beaten for lying, and then most likely killed anyway. This torturous seduction had all been for this moment, the end predetermined regardless of her answer. She wept, refusing to concede. The second she did, it would be over.

Her punishment was a renewed assault on her senses, the rapid, hard thrusts of his fingers prying helpless screams from her throat until she felt the pleasure itself would kill her. He moved beside her, leaning down to growl into her ear.

"Say it, and I'll give it to you."

Whether it was release or death he truly meant, she could not know. She tore at the bed sheets to stop herself from shaking her head, clenching around him as hard as she could. He forced her just over the edge and stopped, leaving her suspended in bliss.

"_Say it!"_

It wasn't just a demand – it was as though he _needed _to hear it. Did he want her to hate him? Or was it truly her love that he sought? At least if he would hit her for lying, it would give her more time.

"Yes!"

His fingers circled, movements teasing, but his voice did not.

"Yes _what_?"

She bowed her head and prayed her next words would not be her last.

"I love you!"

He withdrew, one hand yanking her head back by her hair. The other wrapped around her throat. She closed her eyes, expecting this to be the end, but it never came. He waited until she looked at him to speak.

"And now we've both been proven liars."

She couldn't bear to look at him as he walked away, leaving her aching there, and she climbed onto the bed. On her knees, she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. The soft rustle of his coat let her know that his departure was imminent. Her betrayal would stay with him wherever he went, and when she saw him next, she knew she would pay for it. A desperate plot formed in her mind, mad even to be considered, but it could be worth the risk. The card was gone, all her hopes up in flame along with it. She'd nothing left to lose.

"I could try, sir."

It was no more than a whisper, but it stopped him midstride. Slowly, he turned, and she gazed at him with the most innocent look she could come up with. Though fear prickled the back of her neck, it had ceased to paralyze her. Love had made her brave, and foolish.

She didn't falter as he stalked toward her, his hungry look stealing her breath. She unfolded her legs and lay back, resting on her elbows as he set his hands on either side of her, leaning down. His tongue devoured her again, quick, hot strokes readying her for bliss within seconds. The agonizing suspense came flooding back as she heard him unbutton his trousers. At the first sign of her shuddering climax, he stopped, kissing a trail up her body until he faced her. He was throbbing and rigid again; she arched toward him, her breath heaving. A kiss silenced her moan as he filled her once more, holding her close.

This time, there was no teasing or gentleness, only passion. She embraced him as she had never dared to before this night, her arms wrapping tightly about him as she held steady for his rough, wild thrusts. Her cries broke free as he released her lips to kiss her neck, ramming his full length into her without mercy. His voice, harsh with lust, rumbled an assurance into her ear, and she clenched around him, surrendering herself to the pleasure completely. At last, she screamed in joy, wave after wave of hot bliss drowning her until she could scarcely breathe. She felt his body shudder with hers, an exultant shout of satisfaction cutting through the darkness that consumed her.

Sweet, breathless kisses claimed her lips as she fell back, utterly spent. She floated slowly back down to earth, her aching heart wrenching her into reality; though she returned every kiss in kind, she would never forget the hate they concealed.

He lingered a few moments longer, a hand stroking her hair as he looked at her, and she did her best to seem meek and helpless, not a trace of her true feelings remaining. Without another word, he departed. She pulled the pillow to her and curled up, crying herself to sleep where she laid, the bed still warm from the heat he had given her.

Her heart, he had left cold.


End file.
